The Last Frontier Buddha: Eat, Pray, Shred

Awoken by a frozen kiss once again. The crisp air bites the only flesh peering out from my down-filled cocoon as I slowly climb into consciousness. All senses and perceptions begin creeping back into reality: the wind pattering like a thousand anxious hands, hungry to penetrate the marine-grade cotton tent walls; the musty-smoke odour of burnt firewood, and the blinding bright whiteout that can only be created by ferocious winter storms.


But that smell . . . panic pushes in as I realize that the tent is completely full of smoke. Still half mummified in my bed I crawl towards the exit, anxiety building as the sleeping bag zipper jams and catches even more material with every frantic tug. I find momentary relief by tearing open the tent door. This allows the smoke to leave but creates a clean entrance for an unwelcome guest — the blizzard. It’s 4:30 a.m. on day four and we haven’t even left basecamp….

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